


The Demon in My Fridge: a Welcome to Hell Fanfiction

by bosandaros



Category: Welcome to Hell - All Media Types, w2h
Genre: M/M, sockathan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:15:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27234091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bosandaros/pseuds/bosandaros
Summary: [Sock had always been a peculiar kid, to say the least. When he awakens and finds that both of his parents have been brutally murdered, he didn't know what else to do but to put himself on the end of his own knife. After all, when you kill your parents in your sleep, there's nowhere else to go but down. Luckily, the people he meets along the way lift him back up.]
Relationships: Jonathan Combs/Napoleon Maxwell Sowachowski | Sock, Sockathan
Kudos: 13





	1. The Demon in My Fridge

**Author's Note:**

> TW for a depiction of suicide.

Sock waited among the cold, crowded shelves, surrounded by weird smells in the tight confines that was Jonathan Combs' refrigerator. Finally, the seal of the door cracked and light filled his vision. The first thing he saw was the blond, apathetic teenager. Sock pulled at his red scarf, something that he did often.

"Hey hot stuff, ya see somethin' you like?" Sock chirped.

"Ugh," Jonathan groaned. He turned toward the opposite end of the kitchen with a scowl. "I think I lost my appetite," he said pointedly.

Sock phased through the refrigerator with a smile before he stood solidly on the tiled floor.

"Why are you still here?" Jonathan asked.

"I think the more appropriate question is, why are you still here?" Sock said.

He gestured with upturned hands, though he never broke his cheery disposition.

Jonathan thought that, of all the things that Sock did, there was something about that smile that got to him the most. It gave him a different kind of feeling, compared to how annoyed he felt when Sock pestered him, like the time he drank too much coffee and he felt high from the caffeine. At the same time, he got such a buzz from it that he wanted to throw up. He pushed these thoughts down, though they made him slightly sick.

He hated to think that the demon had started to get under his skin.

"Uh, because you suck at your job?" Jonathan retorted.

Sock frowned for a moment, as he switched from his happy demeanor to unusually despondent. He shook his head as if struck.

"I duh-I s-I suck at my job? I-I suck at my job? Jonathan, d-do you really think I suck at my job?"

***

It was a cool and quiet night, no birds chirping, not even a breeze in the stale air of the cemetery. Steel scraped into stone as Sock poured another shovelful of dirt into the grave. He had worked for hours in a tireless, cold sweat, in an attempt to upend the hard ground, until one soft pile of soil after another collected behind him. His arms strained with the dead weight of the bag he dragged across the plot.

He nearly tumbled over and fell into a grave himself, as the next body hit the bottom with a sickening thud. He felt detached from his body, a sensation that was by no means new to him but was quite disturbing, as he finished his work. He already dug out a hole deep enough to bury a third. There would be time for that. Two were deep in the ground. He touched his cheek with a numb hand, smudged in grime.

He had labeled the headstones as simply, Mom and Dad. Unbeknownst to him, he had killed both of his parents in his sleep. Sock didn't mean for it to happen, like some of the other, smaller things he had gotten a hold of with his knife over the years. Squirrels if he could catch them, turtles in his back yard, even his pet rabbit when he learned that she could be made into a delicious stew. His mom especially had not been happy about that, and he wasn't allowed to have pets afterward.

It wasn't that he was a mean person, he didn't think so. He was very nice to the other kids, especially Joane, but he didn't understand why she screamed and ran away; why was she so disturbed by the animal corpses that he would bring to her? To him, it was no different than the bouquet that his father brought home to his mother the evening before that. It was bright and colorful, full of life, then it withered and wilted away.

The slippery warmth of a fresh kill was more pleasant to Sock than any flower could be. No one else had ever felt the same. He attempted to bury his feelings. He tried to repress the urge to use his knife whenever it struck him. However, the feeling gnawed at his insides every day, until he couldn't contain it any longer, and he would have to kill again. He couldn't exactly place why he was this way.

He supposed the root of it all was the irrevocable boredom that followed him wherever he went. The horrible sensation was lifted from him temporarily when he used his knife, or even another object, blunt or sharp, on occasion. The rush of adrenaline was his only relief from the dull, monotonous drone constantly in the foreground of his mind. He couldn't say it was ever filled with anything else.

Things like love, friendship, family. He understood it logically, but did he feel like other people did when they described it? He found people entertaining, funny even, but what did it mean to love someone? His brow furrowed as he sat and folded his arms over his knees. He supposed that he felt regret, as he sat beside the edge of his parents' graves, yet remorse was a far stretch. No, above all else, what he felt at the moment was apprehension for what he would have to do next.

He stood and positioned himself over the third grave, which he had labeled, Me. Sock held the point of the blade to his fingertip as he contemplated his life.

"Well old friend, never thought I'd find myself at your business end," he said. His smile reflected back to him in the blade. He had always liked that about his knife. Whenever he smiled, it was like he had a friend that smiled at him, too. "Hmm, last words, eulogy? I suppose it doesn't really matter. It's not like anyone's listening or watching me right now."

With that, he gripped the handle of the knife and drove the blade deep into his middle. Immediately blood gushed out of him. He suspected, through the throbbing pain, that he had hit an artery. His whole body pulsed as if it were one big heartbeat as he fell into the ground. He couldn't decide if the feeling was more of a burning sensation, like ice on skin, so cold that it's hot, or perhaps it was more like how it felt to have a hot iron pressed to your skin until all you felt was cold.

"Ouch!" he cried. He reeled in agony in the cold, dark pit. "What made me think this was a good idea?! So this is what it feels like?!"

He let out a loud groan.

"Jesus Christ this hurts." He heaved. "That's it. I'm pulling it out."

He bit his lip and held in a curse word, as his father had warned him not to swear, yet he simply couldn't contain himself.

"Damn it! That didn't help." His eyes wandered toward the knife, the thing that had always been his friend as well as his weak point, the thing that had, in fact, damned him. He shifted slightly in the mud that had started to feel like ice through his vest. "You son of a bitch," he wavered.

A sudden surge of anger overcame him.

"You betrayed me!" He pointed an accusatory finger at the blade with his other hand. It was as if he'd completely lost his sanity, if he ever had it. Then he huffed heavily, his hands dropped, as they had started to feel dense as bricks. "Am I dead yet? No?"

He really wondered how long the pain would continue, but as this thought entered his mind it began to dull and fade. Just like the rush of adrenaline, there and gone. He wondered whether he was ever really alive at all. He peered at the knife, his contempt had waned, but it was still there.

"Is this your sick idea of a joke?! Watching me die?!" he spat. He shifted again, the pain once like a splinter of ice in his gut, now dissolved and thrummed mildly through his entire body. Then he was numb again. The stars and moon began to wane, along with him. "'Cause it's not funny. Jokes...jokes shouldn't last this long. Shouldn't...last...this..."


	2. Welcome to Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sock goes to Hell.

"Welcome to Hell, would ya like a hand?" the man asked.

The man stood above Sock, who laid on his back on the ground. It was pitch-black wherever he looked, yet he could somehow see him very clearly. He had red hair and sideburns that stuck out, a red goatee as well. He wore a burgundy suit, with a small pin on his lapel in the shape of a flame, and a white undershirt. The cuff stuck out as he offered Sock a hand. The man had soft, amber eyes, a kind smile.

"Uh, sure. Thank you, sir," Sock said.

He took his hand and was propelled off of the ground, his body seemed to float without any resistance. It was different compared to when he was alive and he had felt the weight of his body however he moved.

"This is my office," the man said. The darkness snapped away, and they stood in a stark-white office, only a desk and a door to either side of them. "Have a seat," he instructed.

Sock stared at the filing cabinet. It was incredibly tall. His eyes turned upward in awe, as the drawers stretched up with all of the files that he could only assume were of the people who now resided there. There was no ceiling, just drawers that disappeared into an endless dark pit above.

"Do you know why you're here, Mr. Sowachowski?" the man asked.

He smiled again as he looked down at the seated young man. Sock withered uncomfortably against the hard metal, as he reflected more on what he had done. It was a different experience as well, as there was now someone in front of him who would judge him for his actions. He gave a nervous smile as he shrugged tensely.

"Because I killed my parents, killed myself," he said.

The man inspected his nails casually, as he leaned against his desk.

"Yeah, well, I'd kill my parents too if they named me Sock," he teased with a grin.

Sock was puzzled at this. Why was he so nice to him?

"Well, where's all the brimstone and fire? Why am I not being tortured as we speak? Suffering for all eternity?" Sock prompted.

He clutched his hands in the air dramatically, as he grit his teeth. He thought this all had to be some sort of game, some trick or another. He thought it was only a matter of moments before he would be pushed out of the office, and all of the faux pleasantness would be ripped out from under him, instead replaced with pitchforks and dungeons in the fiery depths he was surely destined for.

"Oh, don't sound so desperate, kid," he laughed. He crossed the room toward the office door. His shoes clacked against the hard floor. "See, I'm currently in the process of having Hell renovated. Everyone's off the hook right now. The only one suffering, is me!"

The man clutched his hands in the air dramatically. Sock decided that they seemed to share similar mannerisms, as he watched the man. This put him somewhat at ease in spite of the situation, but he approached him with caution as he opened the blinds and gestured out the glass of the door.

"Would you look at this place? It's a freakin' mess!" the man exclaimed. Sock peered closely out, slack-jawed. He couldn't believe what he saw. Embers glowed and lent a strange cast to things, as absolute chaos raged on outside. "The gluttons and the lawyers are in the middle of what looks like a turf war. The murderers have been hangin' out with the network executives that simply can't be a good influence on them."

He then held a fist to his clenched teeth, as they watched the endless pandemonium. Sock wouldn't look away from it. He lifted his brows, though he was only confused.

"The murderers or the network executives?" Sock asked.

The man turned to him suddenly. He gripped Sock's red scarf in frustration.

"Either!" he sobbed shakily.

Sock put a comforting hand on the man's shoulder, as he cried continually into his own hands.

"So, what's gonna happen?" Sock asked.

Immediately the man smiled cheerfully again. He put an arm around Sock. He gestured to himself, then turned him sharply to face the opposite end of the room.

"What's gonna happen is I'm gonna make you, an offer," he said.

He held his index finger and thumb to his chin, as if in deep thought.

"Oh, you mean like a deal with the devi-"

"I mean like a job offer," the man said, suddenly dour. His mood seemed to shift back and forth completely at the drop of a hat. It was as if there were two different sides to him that warred constantly. It reminded him of his father after he came home from an especially hard day at work. This slightly disturbed Sock and put him on edge as the man continued. "Oh, come off it Sowachowski, I already have your soul. You think I'm gonna challenge you to a fiddling contest or something?"

The man smiled and put his arm around him again, then gestured with a hand. They began to walk back toward the desk.

"Anyway the truth is kiddo, you remind me of myself," he said.

"Yourself? But you're-" Sock paused.

The man turned him, his hands on the young man's shoulders. He looked down at him. 

"Mephistopheles, please. Call me Mephistopheles."

He let go of his shoulders. Sock smiled. He began to trust him more now that he could place him with a name. Sock turned around.

"Well as long as we're gonna be all 'buddy-buddy' about it, you can call me Sock."

He gestured toward himself with a thumb. Mephistopheles raised his brows in mild amusement. He smiled.

"Alright Sowachowski, Sock it is."

Sock sat again in the metal chair, then folded his arms one over the other on the desk. He stared at a simple picture on the wall of a raindrop. It made ripples as it broke the surface of the water it hit, frozen in time and space. The word 'Tranquility' was written below the picture.

"Okay then let me just pull up your file," Mephistopheles said. Sock smiled, then turned his focus again to Mephistopheles, who shuffled through endless pages in the cabinet. "You know you'd think being on a separate plane of existence and all we'd have something a bit more sophisticated than a file cabinet, but you'd be wrong," he inflected.

Sock craned his neck to look at the screen of the ancient, clunky computer. The word 'Macrosoft' was in white letters at the top of the screen, a black backdrop behind it.

"So, tell me Sock, howja get into the whole 'killing people' thing?"

Sock jolted slightly, as he straightened in his seat.

"Well it's, it's kinda personal," Sock said hesitantly.

He clutched his hands in his lap, in front of his purple skirt, which he wore over ripped jeans.

"I won't tell a soul," Mephistopheles said.

"Well I mean it's, it's a long story," Sock said.

He looked away uncomfortably. Mephistopheles pulled out the cabinet once more. The drawer rolled noisily on wheels that strained with the weight of thousands of files, as it shot endlessly across the room. Sock began to wonder how any of this was possible, but then he thought that Hell had to have different physical laws than Earth. Mephistopheles gripped the edge of the drawer as it opened even farther. He continued to pry.

"Oh I've got an eternity," Mephistopheles said.

"Do you ever plan to stop responding in clever puns?" Sock said.

"When this place freezes over!" Mephistopheles teased. The cabinet halted with a click. "Aha!"

Mephistopheles gripped the edges of a single file with both hands.

Sock thought as he looked at the blank back of the page, that it had to be the file that documented his life. He had taken him literally to mean that he had a file of and all about himself. Perhaps that was part of what gnawed at his nerves so much. It made him feel completely exposed. However, Mephistopheles continued to surprise him.

He sat, and with one motion of his index finger, the drawer of the file cabinet snapped backward with impossible speed. Sock's eyes widened, as the force of it made his hair and the ears of his red ushanka hat blow forward. Finally, it closed shut, flat against the cabinet again. Mephistopheles relaxed, his arms folded behind his head. He leaned back in his seat. 

"Now Sock, this demonry position I'm about to offer you is kind of a big deal." His chair squeaked as he rolled slightly. He put his arms down. "You'll be assigned to a human counterpart. It is your job to haunt, torment, pester, and be a general nuisance to this human, until eventually, he uh, you know, punches his own ticket."

Sock grew ever more excited as the man spoke, though he paused in momentary confusion at the word 'pester.' After all, he did more than just pester things with his knife. However, the rest appealed to him very much indeed. He bounced excitably in his seat, his hands clutched in front of him. He was unable to contain himself as Mephistopheles spoke.

"We may be under construction but we still have a quota to-"

Sock stood abruptly, his hands braced in front of him on the desk as he looked him in the eyes.

"You mean I get to kill people," Sock interrupted cheerfully.

Mephistopheles peered at the young man behind the desk, as he thought about how Sock had gotten to be this way. The question had clearly made the young man very uncomfortable. Mephistopheles already knew why Sock killed things of course, as he had read his file that night hastily among a flurry of paperwork, but it was protocol to ask all new members why they did bad things anyway.

"Not exactly. You get to help people kill themselves," he said.

Sock sat back down in his seat, his arms crossed as he considered this.

"Hmm, and if I decline your offer?" Sock prompted.

Mephistopheles grinned, his chin propped on the back of his wrists.

"You won't," he said.

Sock shrugged.

"Ah well, I can't argue with that!" he laughed.

Mephistopheles slid the file toward him on the desk.

"Your first assignment is in there. You work five days a week, nine to five, and you get weekends off," he said. Sock gripped the page, then tilted his head with a frown. He stared at the other young man's picture at the top left-hand corner of the file. He had dark circles under blue eyes, blond hair that faded into a darker shade closer to his scalp on the back of his head. He was nearly expressionless, with a slight frown, a gray hoodie. He looked depressed enough already. "She only gives Sundays off, you know, and I'm the bad guy."

Sock wondered briefly just who this 'she' was, but he was too absorbed in the photo of his counterpart to really care. He glanced at the description, under the title; Hellfile, Sinnergy, LLC. Name: Jonathan Combs, Age: Teen, Eyes: Perpetually Half-Lidded, Hair: Animation, Likes: Sandwiches, Dislikes: Most of The Things.

Sock's eyes shone, as he thought about all they had in common. Although most of the descriptors made absolutely no sense at all, Sock also liked sandwiches, as well as disliked most of the things.

"She doesn't even offer dental," Mephistopheles said.

The man continued to speak, but Sock could only stare at the picture as he contemplated what he would do next. He thought that maybe, just maybe, he couldn't go through with this deal after all. However, he decided that he simply had to see Jonathan Combs for himself.


	3. Hi, I'm Sock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sock meets his counterpart Jonathan for the first time. Things are awkward. Sock does that crabwalk thing to him at the bus stop. Remember that? That was funny.

It was overcast and cool. Traffic rushed quietly by in the distance. The morning fog stuck to his ghostly form; well, technically he was a demon, but up here on Earth, he was in a sort of purgatory. Jonathan stood outside of his house. He was at the bus stop at the end of a cul-de-sac, in the middle of the road of all places. Sock wondered if he actually wanted to die, as that would possibly make this less complicated for both of them.

Sock knew where he lived, he knew he was an only child who lived with his mom, he knew that he had no friends outside of acquaintances at school. He wouldn't consider those to count as friends.No one else was around, apparently, no other kids or teenagers lived in the same neighborhood. It would be easy for Sock to swoop in and absorb all of his attention. He had devised a plan; he would begin the day with his new counterpart and haunt him until the end of it.

Jonathan looked even worse off than he had in his picture. The kid looked as though he never smiled for anything. His hands bore into his pockets, his black backpack slung around his shoulder. He stared straight ahead, dark rings around his eyes and a permanent scowl. He wore that same gray hoodie, and Sock wondered if he ever changed his clothes, not that he could contend; he had worn the same thing every day since he died.

However, at least he washed his clothes. Sock got close enough to him that he could smell sweat and grease, like the old slice of pizza Jonathan had left to fester underneath his bed. Sock saw it under when he stalked him through his window that morning, cracked open just enough behind the blinds. He considered it to be the most depressing thing about this entire situation. He approached him slowly, awkwardly, as he side-stepped toward him a bit like a crab.

He avoided eye contact with the other young man until he stopped about a yard from him. He slowly turned his head and dared to look at him, then swallowed as he was met with a glare. Already the morning had turned out to be interesting. The bus rolled to a stop in front of them. Sock followed after Jonathan. He phased through the bus doors, as a virescent glow illuminated him.

He looked down for a moment. He was still phased up to his hips into the floor of the bus. He floated toward Jonathan, who stared dully out the bus window into the gray day. The engine thrummed softly under his feet when he finally became opaque again. It would take some practice to become more acquainted with his newfound ability, if one could call it that. Sock tilted his head and stared at Jonathan's purple and black headphones, and the way he slouched in his seat, disconnected from the world around him.

Suddenly Jonathan gave a start, then looked up at him. It wasn't quite as intense of a glare, but he didn't seem particularly happy that he stood there in front of him. Sock smiled in spite of this. He had intended to torment him, after all. This would take a bare minimum of effort on his part. Jonathan grabbed his backpack and moved it off of the seat so that there would be room for Sock to sit next to him. 

He sniffed, then continued to stare out the window with those distant, blue eyes.

Sock thought that this was a kind gesture, although unnecessary, given the fact that the bus was virtually empty except for a few other students.

He smiled as he took a seat next to him.

"Hey, kid," Mephistopheles spoke.

Sock turned, his eyes widened in surprise. Mephistopheles sat cross-legged on the seat in the aisle across from them. He hadn't expected to see him there, and he wondered why he had bothered to come up in the first place when there was so much going on down in Hell, on a school bus no less. He considered that it may be more likely than he expected; he had overheard one of his former classmates refer to their school bus as 'the yellow bus that takes us to Hell every morning.'

Sock thought then that his old classmate would have been an easy haunt too. Maybe Mephistopheles would assign him to him next.

However, he had one, more pressing question on his mind.

"Why is he ignoring me?" Sock asked.

"Uh, 'cause he's disillusioned with humanity?" he answered. He gestured with upturned hands. "I mean he is a teenager."

"Can he see me?" he asked.

He didn't believe that Jonathan could really see him and simply not be affected by his presence, although he had clearly made it known that he did see him, with a glare. It bothered him. He didn't like to be ignored. Mephistopheles put his arms behind his head and reclined against the seat with a grin.

"He can, they can't," Mephistopheles answered.

"Can he see you?" he asked.

"Nope," he answered.

"Can he hear us?" Sock asked.

"He can hear you. You're talking to yourself," he said.

Sock quickly glanced back at Jonathan.

"Wha-Nuh-uh! He's wearing headphones!" he blurted.

However, when he turned back, Mephistopheles was gone. Sock upturned his gaze with an irritated scowl. He didn't like that Jonathan ignored him, he didn't care much for school, and Mephistopheles had especially annoyed him. He decided that this would probably be a long day.

***

The bright, fluorescent lights blinked in and out, at least to Sock. It annoyed him, always had, even though everyone else ignored it or didn't notice at all. He wondered how they could. They blinked in and out, subtly, on and off and back on again. They were like a buzzer in his ears, the constant thrum of them drove him crazy. It was always too cold, the teacher and the other students too loud even through the ears of his ushanka hat, something that he wore to filter out the world.

It mitigated these irritants at least a little bit, as well as provided cover for his hair. The other kids used to tease him for his hair, as it was soft and fluffy and stood up when he removed his hat. Actually, they took it off of his head by force and made him chase after them for it. Why did Jonathan have to go to school? Couldn't he haunt him at the park or the movie theater instead? He leaned over the desk he was seated in and stared curiously down at what he wrote, somewhat to annoy him, mostly to distract himself.

Just when he thought he had the floating thing down, he tipped the desk and solidified with it, as it clattered against the hard floor on the way down. He felt more clumsy than he usually had been. He had floated and phased through walls all night long the night before, partly to practice, and yeah, it was pretty fun. It drove Mephistopheles to absolute distraction until Sock was thrown out of his office the night before; part of the fun was to irritate the man.

Now all Sock felt was pain, a sensation that he didn't expect to feel again after the thing with the knife. Jonathan watched, his pencil held still on the page, as he looked at him sprawled out on the linoleum.

"Jonathan!" the teacher warned.

He rolled his eyes with an irritated expression. Lunch came and Sock walked across Jonathan's table, where he sat alone. He had a sandwich, a carton of milk and a bag of chips. He was pale, and Sock wondered if he ate enough, or ever saw the sun. He suddenly had the urge to ask him if he wanted to eat outside with him, but he already knew what the answer would be, so he took the seat right next to him.

Sock propped his chin on the back of his wrist. All the while he stared at him with an unwavering smile. Jonathan seemed horrified by this. He scowled, then took his tray and stood. He walked away toward some other seat. Sock had done a good job so far, as it was his duty to pester him. However, he stood with a dejected frown, his wrists held out in front of him. His nose twitched, as he wondered what the feeling in his chest was.

It felt bad, whatever it was, like a missed opportunity. All he wanted to do was share his love of sandwiches. Gym class came and the boys played basketball. He joined in since Jonathan was on the court. Funny, he didn't seem like the athletic type, unless it was some ritual that the coach forced them all to play. As he looked around, he noticed then that there was no coach. It was different from his former school, where there were two coaches who practically breathed down his neck constantly.

He enjoyed the games enough, and he did everything right, but he refused to wear gym clothes or shower afterward. He hated those open shower stalls. At least in college, he had his own dorm, where he could change out of his sweaty clothes in privacy. Just when he thought he left high school behind. Sock broke out of his thoughts when a guy kicked Jonathan in the back. He knocked forward with a grunt.

His eyes narrowed as they locked onto him. Sock gave a start, then smiled and waved his hands in the air. He readied himself to catch the ball in Jonathan's hands, as he threw it at him with a violent force. At the last second, he pulled back. He dodged out of the way, the ball shot past his head. He dropped his arms, that feeling from lunch came back, along with a sudden impatience that overwhelmed him.

Jonathan dragged his hands down his face and grit his teeth. It seemed that he had also started to lose his patience with him. The other players shoved and rushed past him, their laughter trailed away as they ran. Sock and Jonathan stared at each other, their eyes met with something, but Sock couldn't place a name for what it was. He struggled to connect with others' emotions, as well as his own.

Still, he kept a smile on his face and shrugged, even though he grew more and more frustrated with the other young man as he followed him home. That was it, frustration, he thought. It would all be over soon enough, he tried to convince himself. The day was over, yet he wasn't sure where he wanted to go next. The other young man had been a challenge that day, but Sock felt a peculiar urge to go after him still.

He got off the bus behind him, pulled in two different directions, Hell and Jonathan's house. Both options seemed equally terrible, as he was writhed with the uncertainty that he would ever succeed at what he wanted to do. At the same time, all he wanted to do was follow Jonathan. He wondered what the Hell, or what on Earth, had possessed him. He let out a soft sigh, his face fell. His head tilted, then he peered at the ground.

He wondered what he would do about him. Sock floated on legs that didn't want to walk after his counterpart. He stood solidly in the yard as Jonathan approached the front door. Finally, he pulled his headphones down around his neck, as he turned and acknowledged him.

"What do you want?" he asked.

Well, suddenly this was incredibly awkward. It wasn't like Sock to be hesitant with anybody, at least not when he wanted something. He put his index fingers out in front of him, his mind suddenly frozen. He inhaled deeply and hung on his breath, to give himself time to think. What would he say to him? Hi, I'm Sock, and you should probably just kill yourself? What would he think of him if he knew why he had followed him all day long?

Ultimately, he wasn't sure of what to say, so he decided to begin with the first thing that came to his mind.

"I-uh...I'm a demon, and I'm here to haunt you?" he said timidly. "Wait that was terrible."

He mentally cursed himself. What kind of a response was that? Jonathan had already opened the door. Sock craned his neck to see inside.

"I uh-okay-"

The door cut him off as it sealed shut. Sock sighed.

At least he ate enough and smelled better when he took a shower after gym, he thought.

Sock froze, as he noticed these thoughts for the first time. No, how ridiculous! This was all just to size him up, to do what it would take to bring him down, but...he hadn't actually done much of anything to accomplish that goal all day. All he had done was float around him, like the clouds of an overcast day, there and gone. He wondered if Jonathan even cared that he was there at all, and why he cared what he thought, and why he missed Jonathan just moments after he shut the door on him.

No, no, no! This was all wrong. He was supposed to be a general nuisance to him! This was all entirely irrational, and he could never be his friend. Sock had never had these thoughts or feelings for anyone, and he still couldn't even place a name on what exactly it was that he felt. He didn't find entertainment from Jonathan's situation at all. In fact, he thought that maybe this was, what?

Sympathy, empathy? He hated to feel these things toward him, but this was mostly because he hated it when people pitied him, for whatever reason. It was one reason that he always wore a careful mask around people, when he was alive, and even around the devil himself. It was the reason he was afraid to let Mephistopheles in, afraid that he knew everything about him anyway, and there was no point in secrets.

However, Sock found that he not only wanted to get to know Jonathan, he also wanted him to know him, to notice him. It was ridiculous, entirely irrational. Still, these feelings began to kindle, before he even realized that they had. He wondered for the first time in his afterlife if this is what it meant to care about someone. All of these thoughts entered in a flash and stuck with him.

He tried to fight them back down, into the dark back corner of his mind, where they would eventually, hopefully, go away. Suddenly he had something worse to replace the constant boredom. The ears of his hat drooped as he hung his head and stared sadly at the ground. He prepared himself for another day.


	4. Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sock and Mephistopheles have a business meeting.

Sock licked a glob of cream cheese that stuck to his finger. Mephistopheles made him a bagel out of the Heavencorp, Sinnergy Toaster that had been repackaged and regifted to him some years ago, from a dear friend.

"A deer friend?" Sock laughed, his mouth full.

Sock imagined antlers and eyes that glowed creepily when exposed to light in the dark. His hand fluttered around the palm where he would grip his knife. The thought to kill urged at him and his impulse to do so was a momentary distraction from his gloomy mood. He wanted to bag one and make venison. Instead, he kept his hands busy and his mind barely occupied with the food in front of him. 

"Actually, she's-" Mephistopheles stopped. He pulled at his goatee, as if deep in thought, while Sock tore into the poppy seed covered bagel. He ripped off pieces of it with his hands before he put them in his mouth. "Sock?"

"Mmph?" he swallowed.

Sock let out a loud belch, then wiped his lips with the back of his wrist.

Mephistopheles thought it was utterly disgusting the way that he ate. Sock was a demon, but did he have to be so devoid of manners? However, he held back his reaction to this and forced a smile.

"You, uh, what have you been up to today, anyway?" he asked.

Sock swiped his tongue over a poppy seed caught between his teeth.

He thought the kid seemed depressed when he finally came into his office. He didn't even knock, he just came right in and sulked in the chair. He felt a little sorry for him but more curious than anything else.

"Well, I tried to haunt Jonathan, but I got distracted," Sock said wistfully.

Mephistopheles drummed his fingers on his arm. He watched Sock carefully.

"Distracted, by what?" he asked.

Sock seemed conflicted, and Mephistopheles was surprised by this; he thought that Sock was all over this assignment just the day before. What could have possibly happened in that time?

"By, uh, by Jonathan," he said.

Now Mephistopheles was very confused. He furrowed his brow, then came around the desk, his mind a jumbled mess. He filed the other assignments he looked at, most for newly assigned demons, and sat in his chair. He hoped that Sock wouldn't be a disappointment to him. He already had a few of those other aforementioned demons lined up in case he couldn't pull it off, although at first, he was almost certain that he could.

He half-expected the young man to stroll in bathed in the other's blood, possibly after he handed Jonathan his knife to kill himself with. He gave it back to him the day before, but Sock left it absently on his desk, so Mephistopheles put it back in his drawer for later use. He suspected that morning that Sock had other plans. Apparently, he had. Mephistopheles never expected this.

"You were distracted by your own target," Mephistopheles said tersely.

He pretended to be impatient for a reply, though now he was incredibly curious. Sock tensed his shoulders and looked away uncomfortably.

"Well, he is kind of...distracting," he said.

Mephistopheles leaned back and looked at him carefully.

"In what way?" he asked.

Jonathan was one of the most unremarkable humans Mephistopheles had ever seen. However, looks weren't everything.

"I don't know, I guess he's like a challenge?" Sock inflected.

Sock thought back on the day. It wasn't like a fun challenge; it was fun to chase down squirrels and other creatures with his knife, as well as difficult sometimes until he would trap them in a knothole of a tree or in the corner of a fence somewhere. No, this just left him conflicted. He wasn't sure why. He couldn't seriously want to be his friend. It was ridiculous, entirely irrational. He had repeated this in his mind on the way back, but the thought wouldn't become unstuck.

"I thought you would like a challenge," Mephistopheles said.

"Maybe I like it too much," Sock said softly.

He clasped his hands over his mouth and immediately regretted what he said. If he were to take this demonry position seriously, he could never admit what he felt to anyone. What did he feel, anyway? His head spun, and he felt his stomach rise and fall as if he descended down an elevator too quickly for the rest of him to catch up. He thought he would be sick.

"Hey, hey don't throw up on my desk," Mephistopheles said.

Sock thought he must have looked how he felt.

Mephistopheles rolled around and took a small wastebasket out from under his desk. However, he appeared to be fine after a moment, or at least not as green in the face as he was before. He fell back into the metal chair.

"I have to try again tomorrow, don't I?" he said shakily.

Mephistopheles chewed his lip hesitantly. The kid looked miserable. Although he was the devil, and although Sock had his quirks, he had grown somewhat attached to him. However, he still had a job to do, and he was first and foremost his boss. If Sock couldn't accomplish what he set him out to do, then he would have to let him go.

"It is your duty," he said finally. Sock slumped further into the seat. He looked smaller, like a lost child. "It doesn't have to be tomorrow."

Sock glanced up at him eventually, his face drained of color.

"I might want to get this over with actually, before Jonathan's mom finds that moldy pizza under his bed and kills him herself," Sock said. Mephistopheles let out a hollow laugh, though now even he wanted to gag at that image. "What did you do today?"

Mephistopheles blinked, then gestured to himself. He then deflated in his own seat.

"The same boring paperwork. I'm so done with this renovation. Can we move on already so I can get back to torturing people?" he said.

He let out a sigh, then smiled wanly at Sock's expression. The color returned to his face immediately, a sparkle in his eyes that he hadn't seen in any demon. His eyes weren't soulless, or devoid of any life, like the ones he usually saw day in and day out on the job. Perhaps he had picked the right person for this assignment after all, but he still had his doubt. He looked at him carefully again.

"Do you know why I do what I do, Sock?"

Sock put a finger to his lip, his smile faded for a moment. Then he gave a nod.

"You punish people who were bad," he chirped. Then he frowned. "But, Jonathan isn't bad. He just feels that way."

"You got the half of it down. See, I'm also in charge of lost souls, souls that I've decided can still be redeemed. Souls like Jonathan, and yourself," he said.

Sock lifted his brow. Mephistopheles grinned.

This could work, Mephistopheles thought, as he now had an idea of how to manipulate the young man to do what he wanted.

"Well, how will killing him help anyone? That doesn't make sense to me, sir," he said. 

Mephistopheles gave a thoughtful nod.

"That's alright, Sock. You're still new here. You see when people die they generally don't come back, but sometimes they get a chance at redemption," he said. He let out a soft laugh. "I wish she would give me that chance."

"What?" Sock asked.

Mephistopheles cleared his throat and straightened in his seat. The back of his neck grew hot as Sock stared at him curiously.

"Uh, nothing, besides the point," he fumbled. He wished he didn't let remarks like that slip so often. "It's more fun down here anyway, but if you so choose, once you have proven yourself competent you may possibly be redeemed. Then it will be Jonathan's turn at an assignment of his own, not one like yours. I'm still working out what it would be that he could do exactly. When you go through hundreds of these files an hour there tends to be a backlog."

Sock furrowed his brow, as he tried to understand, but he thought he had it figured out pretty quickly.

"So, by killing him, I get to get out of here?" he said slowly.

Mephistopheles gave a nod.

"Unless you would rather stay and be my acolyte, then yes, you get to leave once this is done," he said.

"And, Jonathan can come with me?" Sock said.

A slow smile spread across his face. Mephistopheles peered at him suddenly. Sock sobered immediately.

"You like him, don't you?" he said.

A slight blush crept up Sock's face. It appeared that Mephistopheles had found his weak point, and his move to manipulate him had been the correct one. What? He was the devil, after all. It was part of the job description, and that's not a lie. Anyway, he would see about all of that later. Maybe he could pull a few strings. He really did like Sock as well, that was also the truth. In the meantime though, Sock would have to work to earn his offer of redemption.

Sock was primed and ready to go for the next day. He bounced in his seat, as it wasn't like him to keep still. He stood abruptly and clutched his hands, happy and determined again.

"Jonathan, here I come!" he announced.


	5. Sandwiches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sock messes with Jonathan's shampoo so that he's blue-haired. Also Jonathan eats a sandwich.

The next day began exactly as it had the day before. Jonathan stood in the same spot in the middle of the road and waited for the bus. He smelled better than he had the day before, but he still dressed in that gray hoodie. He looked directly ahead with the same dour expression. The fog clung to them both. Sock hated the fog. He wanted there to be sunshine already. The last time he saw the sun was when he was alive, and even then he never really felt the warmth, every sensation dull except for the times he would kill something.

The other night he didn't think he would ever see the sun again, and he wondered if he would feel differently about it now. Things had definitely changed for him in some unexpected ways. He turned and gave Jonathan a nervous smile. He glared back at him, as he did the day before. The bus rolled to a stop in front of them. In the classroom, Jonathan worked on his assignment. He looked over at the desk next to him and sighed in relief that Sock wasn't there.

The other boy started to get on his nerves, and he didn't know what he saw in plain, boring him, anyway. He looked down at his page when Sock appeared suddenly, as he phased right through the floor and through his desk.

"Wha-uh!" Jonathan started.

He reeled backward, the chair and desk toppled back with him to the floor. He stared up at the other boy in annoyance. How was it that he could even do that? Why did no one else in the class notice him? He could see him very clearly right above him. The ears of his hat swayed, as he looked down at him and tilted his head with a grin. The other students laughed.

"For the last time!" the teacher warned, more sternly than yesterday.

Jonathan continued to stare, suddenly unconcerned with everything else around him. Who was this boy? It was lunchtime before he knew it. Sock came to sit at his table again. This time, he stayed with him. He held his sandwich in both hands, but he was uninterested in the food.

"So you're really a ghost?" he said.

Sock smiled his usual smile.

"Demon, actually," he said.

Sock was pleasantly surprised that Jonathan didn't move from his seat to go eat somewhere else. He also didn't seem as morose as usual. 

"Huh," Jonathan went.

*** 

The day rushed by into the next. They were outside at the bus stop again.

Although Sock had made a strange impression, Jonathan looked forward to the school day with his new friend. This thought entered his mind suddenly and shocked him. He wasn't really the social type, not that Sock cared.

His purple skirt swayed as he danced for no reason, while they waited for the bus. Jonathan covered his face with his hand. What was seriously wrong with him? In the class Sock sat even closer to him, as he opted to sit on the desk itself and faced him. He stared at him intently, with a happy expression that rarely seemed to fade.

"You should probably just kill yourself," Sock said.

Jonathan's hand went through one of Sock's legs as he gripped the edge of the desk. Without even a glance in his direction, he shoved it roughly into the wall. Sock backslid quickly with it. He was surprised at Jonathan's strength. He did throw that dodge ball really hard the other day. The days seemed to go by faster with him around. It was lunchtime again. Sock sat next to him. The same sandwich.

"Plus I've got this neat spooky hole," Sock said.

He had lifted his shirt to expose his stomach. Blood seeped through and around the necrotic stab wound. It never healed, even in the afterlife. A virescent glow surrounded it. Jonathan stared, clearly disturbed by this point. It was then that he wondered what happened to him. He didn't ask. It would be hard to eat with that knowledge, hard even then after what he had just seen.

Jonathan suddenly had to go to the bathroom; he was about to piss himself with fear. Of course, Sock followed him. He phased right through the wall above the urinal, right in his face. Sock stuck out his tongue. Jonathan noticed then that Sock had spiked teeth.

"Bleugh," Sock went.

"Dude, I'm peeing," Jonathan said.

The other boy in front of the next urinal looked over at Jonathan. Jonathan looked back, along with Sock, who still stuck out his tongue as he remained phased in that spot. Sock continued to follow him wherever he went.

Jonathan realized more and more that it was nice to have someone around, even if that person was a little annoying. It was like he had a close friend, one that would tolerate all of his own faults. For once he didn't feel like a ghost at school; that was apparently Sock's job now. Well, he was a demon, actually.

Another thought occurred to him then, and it filled him with a pang of dread; what if Sock was only there because it was his job to annoy him? Could it be that the last three days were really Sock's attempts to get Jonathan to end his own life? Did the devil think that he was really such a waste of space, that he sent a random demon after him, to try to get rid of him? Or, inversely, was there something about Jonathan that the devil wanted to acquire?

The thought left his mind almost as soon as it entered it. No, that was stupid. Sock had told him that he was there to haunt him, but that had to have just been his failed attempt at humor. He couldn't possibly have been serious. There was no way any demon would be assigned to such a mediocre task, especially not to plain, boring him. Didn't they have more important things to accomplish?

Once again, Jonathan continued to wonder why Sock clung to him. He floated over his head in a loop and stopped him on the way home from the bus. He hovered steadily in front of him. He seemed to have gotten better at his supernatural abilities in the last couple of days. He smiled at him, his knees bent into his crossed arms. Sock's voice filtered through the music from Jonathan's headphones.

"Whatcha listening to?" he asked.

"Uh, Valhalla Soundbox," Jonathan said.

"Never heard of them!" Sock exclaimed.

"Seriously?" he inflected. He removed his headphones and offered them to him. He let out a sigh. "You're unbelievable."

Sock's jaw dropped. He clutched at his hat self-consciously. He really didn't want him to think his hair was too fluffy. Still, he removed his ushanka hat finally. His hair stood out immediately, thick and untamed as usual. Jonathan clasped a hand over his mouth and snorted. He burst into laughter, as he passed right through him on his walk home. Sock's lip trembled. He was annoyed, hurt.

Wasn't he supposed to be the one that did that to him? In one day it was as if their roles had reversed somehow. He pulled on the ears protectively, the hat covered back over his head. He decided that Jonathan would get it tomorrow.

*** 

"You're late," Sock said.

They stood outside the bus stop. That morning before Jonathan took a shower, Sock climbed through the window into his room. He wandered through his house, still pissed about yesterday as he looked for a method of revenge. Finally, he found something interesting in the bathroom. It was a tube of temporary hair dye, dark blue. He emptied the container into his half-filled shampoo bottle.

The dark liquid masked the blue color well. He waited and laughed outside the bathroom door, as he heard screams from the shower. Jonathan burst through the door, a towel wrapped hastily around him. He dripped and seethed in pure anger, as his hair had been transformed from its usual blond to blue. It was spiky in all directions, still wet. He had spent the next hour redyeing his hair back to the correct color.

It was then that Sock learned Jonathan wasn't naturally blond. He shot him a look, a piece of toast still in his mouth from a rushed breakfast.

"I hate you," Jonathan said flatly.

Still, the day flew by, and they seemed to become more distracted by each other than the last. It was lunchtime. Sandwich. Sock pulled his shirt up again.

"Y'wanna stick somethin' in it?" he asked.

Jonathan grimaced at the thing, but his curiosity had been piqued.

"Eh, kinda," he answered.

They walked back to his home. Well, Sock floated. They were side by side. Sock made funny, exaggerated faces as he told some story. Jonathan laughed. It was like he had a best friend, even when he was at his worst. Okay, he could admit that he deserved Sock's antics that morning. He didn't mean to laugh at his hair. Still, he should have apologized when he looked hurt by it. He made a mental note of that next time.

He was new to the whole friend thing.

"Later."

He closed the door to his house, then braced against it with a sigh. As great as it was to have a friend, Sock was exhausting to be around. He didn't let up on the suicide jokes for some reason. Jonathan didn't particularly care for his sense of humor, but he played along with his little game and even poked fun at how bad of a demon he was. Whatever. It was time to get online for a while.

It was the weekend finally, and his bitch of a teacher was replaced by a substitute that day, which meant he didn't have to do homework on a Friday night. He took a few steps forward, then halted in surprise, as Sock appeared right in front of him.

"I just realized I can get into your house whenever I want," he said cheerfully.

***

That's how Sock ended up in Jonathan's refrigerator. He looked down tensely at the ground when Mephistopheles appeared in the kitchen. He didn't say it, but he knew he expected something of him soon. Sock took a couple of steps forward, with a stern look in his eyes, but then froze immediately when Mephistopheles spoke.

"So, how long's it been Sock? A day? A month? A week? Eh?"

He moved abruptly closer with each inquiry. He smiled as he looked down at him, but he seemed tired.

"I-I-" Sock stumbled anxiously.

He couldn't look at him. He remembered being afraid of his parents, particularly his father when he had gotten into trouble.

"No really, the concept of time is something you people made up. I, I really can't wrap my head around it," he said.

Sock relaxed slightly.

"Oh," he said.

Mephistopheles gestured with his hands in front of him.

"Anyway, uh, the point is, I hadn't really anticipated this lasting much longer than like a student thesis film," Mephistopheles said.

Sock froze again, this time utterly confused.

"A what?" he asked.

Mephistopheles was so weird.

"Never mind," Mephistopheles said. He walked around him. "So you're really taking your sweet time with this one huh?"

Sock looked down as he racked his brain for some logical excuse, and found none.

"It's just, it's been kinda hard," Sock said feebly.

"So you're not cut out for it? Is that what you're sayin'?" he asked.

"No, I mean-"

"So you're stalling because you like the guy?" he said.

N-No, no, it's not that, I-"

"Then what?" he pried.

If Mephistopheles were one thing, it would be persistent. Finally, Sock had had enough.

"It's just that, he doesn't even care! He's not affected!" he blurted. He gestured with his hands together in front of him. "I pester him in class until he disrupts everyone, I make him uncomfortable while he's eating lunch, I harass him in the urinal."

"Oh yeah, yeah, I saw that little montage, yeah," Mephistopheles laughed.

"I've got him passing balls to a ghost in gym class," Sock continued.

"He's making passes at you?" he said, now clearly amused with himself.

Sock gave him credit for one thing; he imagined ways that joke could have been more inappropriate.

"Everyone's starting to think he's crazy but it's just not getting to him! Why won't he notice me!?" Sock exclaimed.

He looked down, annoyed and more frustrated with Jonathan than ever. He tried so hard, put in so much effort, and all he got was a mostly lukewarm reception with occasional annoyance. Mephistopheles looked at him curiously.

"Why are you getting so bent out of shape about this? It's not like there's a deadline. I mean, you know it just has to happen...eventually," he said hesitantly.

Mephistopheles would rather it happen sooner than later, but he didn't like to see Sock so upset.

"W-what happens to him when I get him to actually do it?" he asked.

In the meantime, he wanted to know what sort of purgatory Jonathan would land in, if Mephistopheles had even decided yet. He looked sadly at the ground. He didn't want to do anything to hurt Jonathan, but he knew that he had to, eventually. Mephistopheles walked around him as he stuck out an index finger.

"Well, we're gonna need somebody to alphabetize the hall of crippling phobias for the rest of eternity," Mephistopheles said.

This got Sock's attention. Did he mean that Jonathan was to do this for an eternity, or it was needed to be done for an eternity in general, and somebody would eventually replace him? It better be the latter, or Sock decided that he would come right back down to Hell and get Jonathan out of there himself.

"Hey, he doesn't have a fear of alphabetizing, does he? Oh, that would be so good," Mephistopheles laughed. Sock turned around to face him.

"But, what if I can't do it?" he asked.

"Oh, well then you're fired," Mephistopheles said.

Sock stuck out an index finger with a smile, but Mephistopheles was no longer amused. He turned as he walked around him again to leave.

"I-"

"That, wasn't a pun," Mephistopheles said. Sock frowned. Mephistopheles smiled as he turned back toward home. "Well, see ya later Sock!"

Sock stared ahead at his retreating form and contemplated his words. He wrung his scarf tensely, his head hung low, as he felt his time run out slowly. It was like a ticking clock constantly in the background of his mind, especially now. Mephistopheles was in fact very serious, and equally serious repercussions awaited him if he didn't act. He lifted his head, then tipped the lenses over his hat in determination.

Finally, he turned.

"Jonathan come on! A little death never killed anybody!" he called.

"For the last time, stop talking to yourself and get out of my house!" Jonathan called in answer.


	6. Tumblr Story With Two Characters but One Bed - Alternate Title: Oh No

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sock and Jonathan play with shadow puppets on his bed. Sock possesses a disturbing ability.

Jonathan opened his eyes blearily. He jolted up in bed at a green glow in the room. It was the light of his digital alarm clock. The time ticked from 3:36 to 3:37 AM. Too early in the morning to think about the demon. He blew out a slow breath. His heart still pound when he finally sank back under the covers. A bead of sweat trailed down his forehead. He wondered what he did when he wasn't around.

Where he went was obvious. Sock's laugh filled his head when he closed his eyes, his mind flooded with images of him with a pitchfork. He imagined that he probably tortured souls who were bad people in their lives. What even made a person bad? Sock seemed like a normal guy, sort of, if one ignored the random dance that he did and the way he would stalk him in the urinal.

Well, among other things. Okay, he was a weird guy, but he seemed nice enough. Jonathan didn't believe that Sock was actually a demon. He couldn't get him out of his mind. He wondered, not for the first time, what he had done. He wondered who would name their son, or any kid, Sock. He considered it was possibly a name Sock himself made up. What was with the hole in his stomach?

He imagined that he was impaled in an accident, or killed by some horrible person. These thoughts disturbed him. He didn't want to go back to sleep. However, he would rather toss around than be visited by an unwanted guest. Unfortunately for him, Sock seemed to predict exactly when to make his presence known. He buried his face into his pillow when the glowing green light appeared through his closet.

"Ugh, what are you still doing here?" Jonathan groaned.

"I think the more appropriate question is-"

"Yeah, yeah, you're so funny," he said.

Sock came to the edge of his bed.

"Thanks, I know," Sock said.

He could hear in his tone that he was very pleased with himself.

"What I meant was, you're an idiot," Jonathan said.

Sock let out a laugh. He could feel his breath on his ear.

"I know, but you love me, right?" he said.

He blew in his face. Jonathan swatted him away.

"Stop it, that's so creepy," he said.

He shuddered, then turned over and hid under the covers. It wasn't enough to keep out the demon.

"That's the point, Jon."

"Don't call me Jon," he said.

"Why not?" Sock asked.

Jonathan shook his head, still clouded from sleep.

"Why not, what?" Jonathan asked.

"Why can't I call you Jon?" he asked.

"Because you sound like my dad," Jonathan said.

Sock tensed all at once.

"Oh, sorry," Sock said.

Jonathan laid silently under the covers for a long moment, as he wondered what all Sock knew about him, but then he rolled his eyes at his own thought; like Sock would know anything.

Jonathan heaved, too hot already under the blanket. He sat up again, his hair a tangled mess. He still didn't quite forgive him for the incident with the hair dye. Sock sat on the edge of his bed, his feet dangled over the edge, even though it was low to the ground compared to his mom's bed. He suddenly worried that she could hear him through the thin walls. It became very clear to him in the last few days that he was the only one who knew Sock was there.

There was only one other possibility, which was that Sock wasn't even real and Jonathan made him all up in his head. The latter of the two somehow sounded worse. In either case, he didn't want his mom to think that he talked to himself at night.

"Whatever," Jonathan said. Sock's smile remained, along with his hat and scarf, though the rest of him abruptly disappeared. Jonathan laughed in spite of the situation. He wasn't sure if he thought it was funny, or it was so far into the uncanny valley that he had to laugh. "What are you doing?" he asked softly.

He thought to keep his own voice down.

"Haunting you," Sock said. Jonathan lifted a brow, a smile stuck to his face. Sock became opaque all at once with a frown. He seemed to be in deep thought for a moment, then he grinned. "You know, Jonathan, you too could have these powers if you killed yourself and came with me," he said cheerfully.

"I don't think so," he said.

Sock's smile wavered slightly.

"Hmm, maybe I should try something," Sock said hesitantly. He bit his lip, then focused on the green glow that he cast on the wall. "So, Jonathan, what do you think of shadow puppets?"

"What kind of question is th-" He clasped a hand over his mouth and tried to contain a gasp. There was a shadow of a rabbit on the wall. It hopped on powerful legs in front of a flower. Jonathan smiled. He looked at Sock, down at his hands. "How are you doing that?"

Sock let out a small laugh through his pointed teeth. It put Jonathan at ease. He wasn't sure exactly how to feel about that. Then, without any warning, a fox sprung out of the ground and shook the rabbit between its teeth. Jonathan felt hot on the back of his neck suddenly, the same place where the fox sunk in its teeth into the rabbit. Sock laughed into his hands and leaned into Jonathan's shoulder.

Jonathan shoved him away and backed into the wall. He felt almost held hostage by him. It reminded him a little of when his dad came into his room and kept him up with morbid stories, to 'make him stronger.'

"Do you really think that's funny, Sock?"

Sock cleared his throat, another laugh came from his chest.

"Kinda," he said.

"Well, it's not. Stop it," Jonathan said.

"Okay, what about this one?" Sock said.

He moved his hands again. Jonathan didn't want to look, but he felt compelled to do so. A very detailed image of a demon appeared on the wall. The demon held a small person in his gigantic hand. They wriggled helplessly in his palm when the demon chomped down on the person. Blood gushed from the half of them that was left and down the demon's mouth. Jonathan gripped Sock by his scarf and locked eyes with him, his hair stood up on his arms.

"Did you just threaten me?" Jonathan said tensely.

Sock's eyes widened. He appeared frozen as he glanced from his clenched hands to his face, unable to look him directly in the eyes. It all happened so fast that it shocked him. He shook his head quickly.

"What? N-No, no that wasn't-" he stumbled. Sock stared down at Jonathan's hands. He held onto him for a moment longer, his eyes narrowed into slits. Then he let go. Sock heaved. He stared straight ahead at the wall, his lips and nose twitched oddly. Finally, he spoke again. "That wasn't supposed to be you, I just-"

He let out a slow breath, then seemed to calm down.

"I'm sorry, really Jonathan. Just one more, please? It'll be a good one, I swear."

He smiled at him, though he still had a nervous look in his eyes. Jonathan looked back at him warily, then sighed. He felt tense, nervous. It was odd to have Sock in his room, in his bed no less, and it put him on edge for some indiscernible reason.

"Fine, Sock. I guess."

He came back to the center of the bed, more comfortable than the spot he had been when he recoiled in disgust.

"Okay, here's a good one," he said.

His hands moved and the shadows became two people, then a third, smaller one. The smallest held one of each of the taller ones hands in both of theirs. Jonathan watched with a careful, blank expression, but everything seemed alright. It was a family, not unlike his when he was that age. The kid did cartwheels while the parents clapped encouragingly. Jonathan let out a quiet laugh, as he kept in mind that his mom was in the room across the hall.

A bouquet appeared in the tallest one's hands for the other adult, who hugged them in response, before the shadows sunk on the wall. Suddenly the two adults were together on what was clearly a bed.

"Is there going to be sex? Sock, please don't-"

The images blurred as Sock waved a hand, fully focused on the wall. They came back into full form when the smallest one opened a door. They had something in their hand. At first, Jonathan didn't recognize what it was until they lunged at the other two, who were now in a hectic tangle of sheets in the bed. Blood sprayed Jonathan's wall, then the bed was divided into two, then three, headstones.

The smallest one dragged the two into their graves and took out a knife and then killed themself. 

Jonathan understood all at once why Sock had become a demon. Something wasn't right about him. Forget the weird, harmless things he did and the odd way that he dressed. Jonathan didn't care about any of that. He didn't know why Sock acted the way he did and he didn't want to find out. He wanted him out of his room. Finally, he had enough.

"Get out," he said.

Sock blinked as Jonathan pointed toward the door. He waved his hands urgently.

"J-"

"Get. Out," he repeated forcefully.

Sock's expression hardened suddenly. He crossed his arms defiantly.

"No," he said.

Jonathan's mouth fell open in shock.

"Excuse me?" Jonathan said.

An odd laugh came out of his chest. Sock looked at him like a deer caught in headlights. However, he stayed where he sat.

"You want me to leave? Make me," he said. He gestured with his hands in a challenge. Jonathan felt a sudden and intense flash and then lunged at him. "Jon-"

Sock let out a strangled cry when Jonathan pinned him with one hand underneath him, the other raised above him.

"Oh, what was that? Did you want to play shadow puppets? Well, how about you be my puppet? Huh, Sock? How about that?"

His voice rose, his fist barely restrained in the air. Sock shook, completely frightened of him. Suddenly, a sliver of light spilled across the floor as a shadow stood in the door.

"Jonathan, it's four in the morning. What are you doing?" a woman asked.

They both looked at his mom, who stood in the doorway with a worried expression.

"I uh-" Jonathan paused. Sock pulled him down and whispered in his ear. "I had a nightmare."

Immediately understanding flooded the woman's face. She gave a nod, suddenly very stoic.

"Alright, I get it. Just try to clean this room up today, will you? It smells like mold in here," she said disapprovingly.

"Fine, mom," he said. She gave another nod, then closed the door softly. There were footsteps down the hall, then the door to the other room closed. Jonathan looked down at Sock. "Hey, thanks for the save. I have nightmares all the time."

He smiled. Then his face fell, as he realized what he just said, and that he was way too close to his face. Sock blushed bright red. Jonathan recoiled away from him. He was more disturbed now than by anything else that night, namely the weird, twisted mess that was his own thoughts toward the demon. Sock lifted up and floated suddenly off of the bed. It seemed that he lost control of himself, as he clawed at the air for the edge of the metal headboard.

He gripped it and then let out a breath when he sank down onto his pillow. He stared at Jonathan in shock. Then, he buried his face in his hands.

Jonathan felt a little sorry for him. It was possible that he had overreacted. They were just shadows on the wall, nothing serious. Why was it so difficult for him to make friends? Or whatever they were. He shook his head to clear it. That wasn't important at the moment. 

"Sock, look-" He reached out for one of his shoulders, which shook violently. Jonathan stopped as Sock made a snorting sound. Suddenly he filled the room with loud laughter, his face still red. Jonathan was grateful, not for the first time, that he was the only one who could see and hear him. He was suddenly annoyed with him. "What is so funny?"

"You-" Sock wheezed. Sock let out another high-pitched laugh, which sounded a little like the rat he caught the other day under his bed. His mom was right. He needed to at least take out the trash in his room. "Your face when you saw your mom!"

He snorted, then covered his nose. Jonathan smiled at this. Sock's face fell suddenly, then his arm reeled back and he punched him in the shoulder.

"Ow! What is wrong with you?" Jonathan demanded.

He clasped a hand over his mouth and watched the door for a moment, then looked back at Sock.

"You looked like you were having too much fun. I am here to torment you, after all," he said. 

Jonathan yawned, then fell back onto the bed next to him. He listened to Sock's ramblings and ignored his morbid suicide jokes. Time seemed to rush forward with him around. Gray sunlight from an overcast sky filtered through the curtain. The green glow that came off of Sock receded from the wall as a result.

"Was that your family?" Jonathan asked.

Sock jolted, his eyes locked onto him. Then he frowned.

"Yeah," he wavered. He looked at the floor sadly. Jonathan stared as the grainy light spread through the room. "I killed them in my sleep. How does that even happen?"

His voice cracked. Jonathan didn't know what to say. Video games distracted him when he questioned literally everything about his own life. He dug out a random game from the pile on the floor and held it upside down in his hand.

"Do you want to play?" he asked.


	7. Get the Hell out Free Card

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan has a crush.

Sock clutched his fists and loosened them, then repeated the process again, until it got Jonathan's attention. For once, he didn't intend to pester him. Sock attempted to coax feeling back into his numb hands. He felt completely disembodied, a word that sounded ironic to him, as he didn't even have a body. He knew this lack of sensation well. It was as if cruel fate bound him to forever have the horrible feeling that he was a ghost, regardless of whether he was dead or alive.

However, it felt especially nagging now. He squeezed his eyes closed and tightened every muscle. He imagined that this is what rigor mortis must be like, every part of him twisted in on himself like a collapsing star.

"Oh no, why is this happening?" Sock said softly.

He blew out a breath, then opened his eyes. Jonathan stood in front of him. He had stood from his seat while Sock's eyes were closed. It didn't even occur to him that the bell rung. The excited laughter of Jonathan's classmates rang in his ears. His eyes adjusted to the overly-bright lights, the white walls, the rows of desks. There they were in the empty classroom. The room was cold and clinical, as always.

The teacher glanced up at Jonathan uncaringly, then shrugged and turned back to the screen of her laptop.

"Sock, what's wrong?" Jonathan whispered.

He made sure to keep his voice down. Half the time he just wrote Sock notes and he wouldn't even have to pass them in class. Sock would lean over the desk and read everything. He would write back to him. He controlled the pencil and directed him to write morbid things. His history teacher had seen some of the things that Sock wrote, and as a result, Jonathan was punished with a week of detention.

He almost got into trouble again on that day, but he didn't care much about that. It was Thursday. By next week everyone will have forgotten about it. He didn't want anyone, not even his English teacher who couldn't care less about him, to think that he had random conversations with himself though. A week had already passed since Jonathan first met Sock. As much trouble as he had caused him, he was the one person that kept his incredibly dull life at least somewhat interesting.

Jonathan wondered if this was what love was like. Yes, things had indeed changed between them in a way that he would never have guessed. He stared down into his green eyes, concerned for the demon. Finally, Sock answered.

"I can't feel my body," Sock said tensely.

His own voice was far away in his ears. He ground his teeth together in a futile attempt to regain some sort of sensation. Jonathan seemed confused. He motioned subtly for him to follow. They walked down the hall, the lockers bent and tilted, the crowd of students equally distorted. It was like he saw everything through the bottom of an empty glass, slightly off a bit, just enough to get a sense of where he walked and more than enough to be unsettling.

His hand touched Jonathan's as he caught the door handle on the way outside. There was no one around but them in the back yard of the school. Jonathan looked at him with a frown, his brows furrowed. He seemed afraid for him, but it was hard for Sock to tell in his current, very unusual state. It was worse than the time he had been altered on the medication that a child psychiatrist recommended his parents to give him.

The pills mitigated his urges to kill for a time, but it also made him into a zombie that could barely function, much less hold a knife. The fog of memory drifted in and out of his mind. His parents, the endless hospital visits, the doctors that treated him like a wild animal that needed to be contained. Perhaps they were right. The experiment with those pills was short-lived, and soon after he had gone back to do what he did best.

"What's happening to you?" Jonathan asked.

Sock was pulled away from his unpleasant memories. His eyes widened in terror as his arms and legs began to fade. He clung to Jonathan. He thought that maybe if he touched the human he could somehow absorb some of his solidness, enough to become whole again himself. Unfortunately, that just wasn't how it worked. Nothing helped. This was different from the feeling he had when he made himself invisible and phased through walls.

It was like someone tore a hole in him, and all of the warmth and feeling of humanity slowly leaked out, until there was nothing left. Well, he wasn't human, but at least most of the time when he was up here with Jonathan, he felt like one. Sock disappeared more rapidly, up to his torso and then his neck. Jonathan's voice trailed farther away as if he had fallen down into an endless pit.

His eyes squeezed closed and then opened, darkness all around him. Then, it snapped away and he was surrounded by the stark white walls of Mephistopheles' office. Sock looked around warily. The seat behind the desk was empty, the file cabinet closed. Sock went behind the desk. The out-box was empty, the screensaver waved in slow, colorful lines on the idle computer. He felt his scarf and pulled at the fabric, then pinched his arm.

It hurt slightly. His teeth pulsed in his mouth from when he ground them harshly together. He touched his jaw, relieved that he could feel sensation again. However, he was still concerned, as he had no idea how he got back down to the office. Just as he wondered if the strange feeling of depersonalization was connected to him reappearing here suddenly, his eyes fell on one thing in the in-box.

There in the plastic slot was the chewed pencil, the one that he had teased Jonathan about, as he would subconsciously put it in his mouth whenever he seemed deep in thought. which sat on top of the note that he and Jonathan had written back and forth to each other in class that very day. All morning long, he made it a point to be a general nuisance to Jonathan, as well as entertain himself, before he died again somehow from boredom.

A slight blush crept up his face as he recalled the events that had followed.

***

It was seven in the morning. The projector cast a dim light in the otherwise dark room. The teacher in Jonathan's science class droned on about fossils in rocks, formations that were far deeper in the ground than he could even imagine. At first, the subject interested him. Sock liked dinosaurs, as they were fierce and carnivorous. With one cold look at their prey, they could freeze them in their tracks and snatch them up between their sharp, powerful jaws.

Then, the subject changed to fossils of seashells, their shapes eternally embedded into the ground. This wasn't nearly as entertaining to him. Jonathan was clearly bored as well. He slouched in his seat, his eyes barely open. Sock grinned as he got an idea. He stood from the seat next to him, at the back of the class as usual, and pointed to his pencil. Jonathan glanced from his finger to the pencil and took it in his hand.

Sock placed his own hand over Jonathan's and directed the lines drawn onto the page, lines that formed letters and then a single word.

Die, it read.

Jonathan looked up at his face, then flipped the pencil over and erased the message. Then, he did something that was unexpected to Sock. He wrote a message back to him.

I wish, this class sucks, it read.

Jonathan met his eyes with a sincere smile. It frustrated Sock. Not to mention, it made him confused. If he wanted to die, then why didn't he just get it over with already? His goal to make Jonathan kill himself seemed to slip further out of reach with each day that passed. Sock had to admit that he had been a slacker lately, as he preferred to play video games with Jonathan rather than convince him to die.

Jonathan poked him in the arm. Sock looked down again and saw that he wrote something else.

Do you know the answer to question two? it read

Sock shook his head. Jonathan's smile faded, as he saw that Sock didn't look very happy. He pointed at the pencil again, more demanding this time. He held it still and Sock went to work on the page. Jonathan lifted the pencil away when he was done.

Why are you still here? it read.

Jonathan tilted his head. He glanced around Sock at the teacher for a moment, who was still turned toward the projector. The image switched to a Venn diagram as he continued to speak. Half of the students were asleep at their desks. Jonathan wrote back. He grinned and showed him the message.

Because the bell hasn't rung yet, it read.

Sock twisted the ears of his hat and stamped his feet angrily.

It reminded Jonathan of a little child that didn't get his way. He dropped the pencil and covered his mouth, a soft laugh came out muffled through his hand. One girl looked back at him right through Sock. Jonathan dropped his hand with a stoic expression. He sniffed and stared back at her until she turned back toward the projector. He met Sock's eyes again. One of them twitched slightly, as Sock tapped the desk near the pencil.

Jonathan never saw him so irritated before. He liked him this way, though he wasn't sure why. He guessed he was finally used to Sock's sense of humor enough now that he could play along with his games. He didn't expect him to get so angry that quickly though. It seemed to come out of nowhere. Jonathan decided to mess with him some more, but first, he allowed him to write another message.

Do you think this is funny? it read.

Jonathan drew the pencil away from him as he wrote a message back.

Yes, it read.

He noticed where Sock's teeth came together in sharp points. He stared down at him, his eyes narrowed. Jonathan's expression changed. He didn't understand why Sock took their game so seriously. At first, he thought it was a little funny, but then it occurred to him that Sock didn't seem like himself that morning. He wrote something else. Sock looked down at the page.

Why are you angry? it read

Sock made a noise in frustration. Then all at once, he smiled as if he got a brilliant idea. This was somehow more frightening to Jonathan. He wrote a note back to him.

Want to play a game? it read.

Jonathan thought they were already, but whatever. He scribbled a quick reply.

Sure, it read.

Sock grinned devilishly. He directed the pencil and drew a long line up the page, then the line crooked horizontally, then he drew down. He stopped as Jonathan suddenly put together what he wanted to play. Jonathan had to hold back another laugh. He thought the last time he played this game he was like six. Sock drew four short, broken lines in one row, then eight more below it.

Sock let go of the pencil and the game began.

Jonathan stared at the rows for a moment, the lesson in class now unimportant to him. He didn't need the teacher to explain much of it anyway; since he met Sock, he found that everything in life was easier. Even his schoolwork didn't seem nearly as difficult as before. He had made a B+ on his math test just the day before. He also dunked a basketball for the first time, something he had practiced for a while but couldn't do until then, and had won the game for his team.

Jonathan felt less depressed, more motivated to succeed, and he just had to win this game.

He tapped the pencil to the page and then guessed the first letter.

O.

Sock nodded his head. He directed a single letter I to the second line in the first row. Jonathan tapped the pencil to his lip when he let go.

Y.

Sock's smile widened. It made Jonathan happy. Their hands touched as he directed the pencil to the first line on the bottom row.

U.

Sock pointed this time instead, to the third line on the bottom row. Jonathan stopped for a moment, confused as to what the message was. He thought for another moment.

Hint?

Sock blinked at him. Then, he motioned at himself. Jonathan tilted his head. Then he smiled and turned back to the page.

I.

Sock nodded enthusiastically.

You and I, Jonathan thought.

He wrote another letter.

W.

Sock shook his head, then pointed at the line that hung down forebodingly. Jonathan sighed, then drew a circle that connected the rope around the poor soul's neck on the page. Then, he read the letters on the page over again. He wrote the next letter hesitantly.

K.

His hands had started to sweat for some indiscernible reason. Sock gave a nod, then pointed to the first line. Jonathan filled it out. He stared down at the page, a strange look on his face. Then his jaw dropped. He glanced between the page and Sock. His heart throbbed in his chest.

Sock smiled, as he thought he had figured out his idea for him. He was especially satisfied that something seemed to burn in his eyes. Then, confusion swept over him, as a slow smile spread over Jonathan's face.

S.

Sock gave an apprehensive nod. Before he could react, Jonathan held up a finger, then filled in the rest of the lines, all but one. The first thing he noticed was the space that wasn't supposed to be there. Then he read the message.

Kiss you, Sock.

Sock looked at the page for a moment with a blank expression, unable to believe his own eyes as he read over the message. He read it more quickly over again, his eyes wide in shock. He stared into space for a moment, then down at Jonathan, who smiled and nodded enthusiastically. Sock sat back down next to him, the blank expression stuck to his face until the bell finally rang at the end of class.

The next three classes went miserably. Jonathan continued to write notes to him in class. They asked what he wanted to do later and told him that he could make plans for them for the weekend, which was absolutely horrible news for Sock. He almost got into trouble with the teacher in his history class. The other students whispered to each other and looked at him warily, but he didn't seem to care at all.

If anyone floated through the halls, it was now Jonathan. He wouldn't take his eyes off of Sock for half of the day. His skin was no longer pale and sickly, but instead retained a light blush when he looked at him. Any attempt that Sock made to haunt him only made Jonathan laugh. He tried to hold his hand, which made Sock's demon heart pound. Jonathan preened himself in the mirror of his locker.

Sock had never seen him, or anyone, smile so much.

Oh no, oh no, oh no, Sock thought in an endless loop in his mind. How could he suck so much at his job?

***

Back in Mephistopheles' office, he clutched the note in his hands. He couldn't believe what Jonathan thought. He couldn't believe that the note was right there in his hands. Why was it here of all places? Maybe by some mercy, Sock was sent down here when he absolutely humiliated himself so badly he just wanted to sink into the floor, and at any moment this note would burst into flames.

He never wanted to look at this epic failure again. The door to the office opened and Mephistopheles came into the room with a stack of large, manilla envelopes in his hands. Behind that smile, there was a tick in his jaw, something definitely demonic in his eyes. Sock may not be one to connect with others' emotions, as he had shown that day with his refusal to reciprocate Jonathan's, but despite that Sock found he could interpret people better than most. 

The one exception to this seemed to be Jonathan, who was unremarkable on the surface but turned out to be the strangest person Sock had ever met. However, he knew Mephistopheles very well, and it was clear to him beyond measure that he was livid.

"Ah, Sock. There you are. Take a seat, please. We should talk."


	8. My Demon Valentine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mephistopheles is very mad.

The white room was so quiet that Sock could hear a pin drop. He sat tense with his back pressed against the cold, metal seat. Mephistopheles looked at him over folded hands with an expression that revealed very little, until he dropped a fist down onto the desk. Sock jolted and shook in his seat as the pencil case and coffee cup rattled. Some of it spilled over the logo on the cup, which read 'Handsome Devil,' and pooled around it on the desktop.

Sock stared at his face and completely froze in fear. 

"Do you take this position seriously, Mr. Sowachowski?" Mephistopheles asked. Sock didn't know what to say to this. Perhaps fortunately for him, he didn't have to say anything. Mephistopheles didn't wait for a response. "I've been attached to someone before, Sock. I'm not ignorant of the particular feelings involved in that-"

Sock lifted his finger and opened his mouth, then shut it and immediately dropped his hand. The look on his boss's face was enough to tell him when to speak and when he needed to shut the Hell up.

"We were the perfect team, and she thought of us as good friends. I wanted something more, but I was too afraid to tell her how I felt. When we went our separate ways, it really hurt," he said. Mephistopheles seemed to have calmed down somewhat. Sock had been so surprised by this story that he forgot he was in trouble for a moment. "Do you know what I learned from that relationship, Sock?" 

"That you should have told her how you felt?" Sock answered.

Mephistopheles burst into flames. The fire spread as he abruptly stood, his chair toppled to the floor.

"No, you insolent fool!" he roared, his voice drastically lowered in pitch and absolutely demonic. 

Sock tensed every muscle and shook, wide-eyed and more scared than he had ever been. In addition to Mephisophles' anger toward him, it had become very apparent at that moment that it was clearly a touchy subject. Mephistopheles seethed and locked eyes with him when the fire alarm blared overhead. He seemed to realize only then that he was on fire. He padded his shoulders down and blew out a breath, as a demon servant burst through the door with a fire extinguisher in hand.

A flurry of white foam filled the room, then they ran back out the door as quickly as they entered before Sock could even get a decent look at them. Mephistopheles' eyes blinked open through the blanket of white foam that now coated his entire body. He wiped his face and shoulders.

"I'll have to remember to give that one a raise later," he said. He sighed, then lifted his seat upright and sat down again. "No, Sock. My point is that sometimes you can really like someone, but your duty comes first. You have a responsibility as my acolyte to do the assignment that is tasked to you. It is imperative that you accomplish this task, and although there is no set deadline, I must admit that I expected you to be much more expedient than you are."

He paused and stared down at him seriously.

"I'm honestly very disappointed by your lack of progress in this endeavor," he said.

Sock only understood some of what Mephistopheles had just said, but he kept his mouth shut. He had seen and heard more than enough to know one thing; he was pissed off.

"So, am I fired?" he asked softly.

He wasn't sure how to feel about that if he were. He supposed it would all depend on what the alternative to the current task would be. He wished that he knew, as it was somehow more frightening to not know what would be in store for him if he couldn't accomplish what he was set out to do. Mephistopheles sighed deeply. He stippled his fingers on the desk and considered Sock carefully.

"No, Sock. I'm giving you another chance, but don't you make me regret it." There was such a warning tone in his voice, it had the same effect as if he had just yelled at him again. Sock held his body still so that he wouldn't tremble from head to toe. "You can leave."

Sock stood on weak legs and walked back into the darkness of the closet. He let out a ragged sigh, his adrenaline spiked too high even for his liking. He blinked and then the darkness was gone.

***

Jonathan felt more miserable than ever. He slouched over in his seat at the lunch table, too depressed to even eat. A full day had passed and the demon still wasn't around. He just disappeared without any explanation, and he clearly didn't feel very well when he had. Jonathan wondered what was wrong, or if he did something that caused him to go away. Where had he gone?

What if he didn't come back? He tried to stop the hot tears that welled behind his eyes, overcome with worry and fear. What didn't help were the pink and red balloons and flowers and cute stuffed animals all around him. It was Valentine's Day, and once again he was alone. He wanted to spend the day with Sock and had made plans for the weekend for them. He even had a bouquet of flowers stuffed away in his locker for the demon, in case he came back that day.

He stood from his seat and wandered down the hall toward the bathroom, but then he stopped when he saw a distinct red hat. A single tear fell down his cheek and relief flooded his face when he smiled. There he was behind the exit door of the school, exactly where he disappeared a day before. He turned and saw Jonathan, then opened the door and came inside.

"Sock!" he cried. He ran toward him and nearly knocked him over when he wrapped him in his arms. "You came back! I was so scared."

His voice wavered. Tears spilled down his face and onto his hat. Warmth enveloped the demon and calmed him, in direct contrast to the cold fear that he felt just moments before.

"I had to take care of something," Sock said vaguely. Sock wouldn't look at him, and Jonathan noticed that he was clearly shaken from something. His eyes narrowed and bore into the tile below his feet. "It was my boss. He said I can't date anyone right now."

He glanced around for a moment with fearful eyes. Jonathan pulled away from him, very concerned.

"Well, there's no one here but us now," Jonathan said. He wiped his face and was suddenly worried that his eyes had bags. He sniffed. "I just can't believe your boss kept you for an entire day! What happened to you?"

Sock looked up at him in shock.

"An entire day?" he repeated dumbly. Then he considered that Hell, in addition to other ways it differed from Earth, must be on its own time too. "It doesn't feel like it's been that long, Jonathan."

"I know, I thought you were gone forever," he laughed. Tears welled in his eyes again. He let out a groan. "I've been so messed up without you."

Sock suddenly looked deep in thought.

"Really?" he said.

A slight smile curved his lips. Jonathan gave a nod.

"Yeah, man. Oh, and by the way, I got you something too," he said.

Sock floated after him toward a random locker. He then thought that it must be his, as he set his backpack down and turned the combination to open it. When he turned around Sock was surprised by a red and pink arrangement of flowers in Jonathan's hand. Sock blinked and shook his head, the flashbacks of his parents back with a vengeance. Jonathan frowned.

"Not a flower kind of guy? It's okay, I got you something else too. Could you hold-" he paused.

Both of them froze as a girl turned the corner and walked down the hall. Of course, all she saw was Jonathan, alone with a bouquet in his hand.

"Hi, Jonathan," she said.

"Hey, Alison," he said.

The girl gave him a strange look but then smiled.

"So, who are the flowers for?" she asked cheerfully.

Jonathan blushed slightly. He looked nervously at Sock. He would seem absolutely crazy if he told her the truth.

"Someone, I don't know if I should say," he said.

She let out a quiet gasp.

"Ooh, are you keeping him a secret?" she whispered conspiratorially, in case there was someone around the hall.

He looked at Sock again, who gave a noncaring shrug.

"You could say that," he said hesitantly. "His boss doesn't let him date."

She tilted her head back in surprise. Then she let out a snort.

"If that were me I'd be fired by now," she said. She shook her head, her brown hair swished on her shoulders. "Anyway, me and Mike are going out later. Jeremiah's having a party at his sister's place. You should come. Unless you're busy," she trailed off.

Jonathan smiled, but then looked at Sock again. She looked in his direction too, looked right at Sock. He stared back at her, right into her brown eyes, and knew that she couldn't see him. It began to make Sock angry. He really didn't like to be ignored, and although she couldn't help it, he still felt overlooked.

"I get it," she said. Her eyes lingered on the empty space for a moment longer and then turned up toward Jonathan again. She gave him a smile. "Well, I'll see you around then."

"Right, see you later, Alison," he said. She turned and walked toward the other end of the hall. She opened the door to the stairs of the second floor. Jonathan let out a sigh as it closed behind her, then turned to Sock. "Sorry I kept looking at you. I can't really help it."

He smiled, then frowned. Sock peered up at him with a thoughtful and slightly irritated expression.

"What?" Jonathan asked.

"Who was that?" Sock blurted. Jonathan stared at his face for a moment. Then he burst into laughter. "Don't laugh, answer me!"

Sock blushed and covered his face with the ears of his hat in an attempt to obscure it.

"You're really cute when you're jealous," he teased.

Sock swiped at the grin on his face when Jonathan grabbed his wrist. He moved close and gave Sock a small kiss on the lips. Sock reeled back, overcome with shock. Jonathan moved back as if he were equally surprised at what just happened. Sock fought back a smile at the feeling in his chest.

"Uh...um," he trailed off.

Then he glanced around again. He waited to be summoned back to the office but then was relieved when he wasn't. Apparently, Mephistopheles had other things to do other than to spy on him. He put his responsibility out of his mind. Jonathan looked incredibly nervous. Sock sighed. You had one job, Sowachowski, he thought. However, he just couldn't help himself.

"I'm sorry, Sock. I didn't think, if you're not ready, for that. I-I mean-"

Sock raised on his toes and pressed his lips against Jonathan's. They wrapped around each other and kissed, and everything went quiet as if they were the only two people left in the world. Sock pulled away finally. He smiled dumbly, that feeling stirred up and down in his chest. The only thing he could compare it to was the time he went on a roller-coaster ride the summer before.

Jonathan stared at his face, then at his feet. He looked up and down, then laughed, when Sock noticed just then that he was eye-level with him. He had floated off the ground. His feet planted onto the tiled floor as reality came down on him again. What was wrong with him?

"I'm supposed to be haunting you, you know," he said.

Jonathan sighed in sudden exasperation.

"Oh, this again?" he said, then smiled. He picked up his backpack off the floor and dug into it. "Well Sock, you can always haunt me at the movie theater."

He held out two tickets.

"I thought we could go see this together tomorrow night," he said excitedly.

The bell rang for class to begin. Sock took one of them. They began to walk together down the hall.

"Yeah, what's it about?" Sock asked.

"It's a horror movie, about a guy that falls in love with a demon," Jonathan said. He frowned suddenly. "Not like you though, like an actually threatening demon."

"Oh, thanks," Sock said flatly.

He turned the ticket in his hand to see the label on the front. The movie was called, 'My Demon Valentine.'

"Maybe I'll get a few tips on how to be a real demon," he said.

Jonathan stopped and took his shoulder in his hand.

"Don't ever change, Sock. You're already perfect to me."

His eyes were so intense that Sock had to look away for a moment. He swallowed.

"Okay," he said.

"Great," Jonathan said.

He smiled down at him, his eyes lingered on him even when a couple passed them and gave him a weird look. Then the bell rang again and he rushed down the hall, already late to his next class.


End file.
